


if i fall from the sky.

by katarama



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Allison's Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4754681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a wing tattoo on his back that Scott hadn't seen before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if i fall from the sky.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexenglish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/gifts).



> For the tumblr prompt "sciles + 'I haven't seen you with your shirt off in years, wtf, why are there giant angel wings tattooed on your back? they're WINGS? WTF??'"
> 
> References to Allison's death and Stiles' time as the nogitsune.

Stiles is sprawled on the table in the clinic.  Scott doesn’t understand why they’re there instead of at the hospital; Stiles was losing blood, the back of his t-shirt ripped and red, and as far as Scott knows, Deaton isn’t exactly trained to treat humans.  But Stiles insisted that it had to be Deaton’s, and Lydia had agreed.

He looks small, now, perched on the metal table in the middle of the clinic.  He’s quiet and pale, and Scott is worried.  His hand is on Stiles’ shoulder, slowly draining as much of Stiles’ pain as Stiles will let him.  It isn’t much; Stiles keeps protesting that he’s fine, that Scott really doesn’t need to do any of this.  Scott thinks of the way blood gushed from the slashes in Stiles’ skin, and he disagrees.  He does need to do this.  He can’t do much, but this much makes Scott feel useful, at least.

* * *

 

He’s confused and anxious; it seems like everyone’s in on a secret but him, because no one else seems worried.  Lydia’s reassured him that there aren’t any screams coming for Stiles, and Stiles himself isn’t even flustered.  

No one seems to be explaining, so Scott slowly draws pain out of Stiles and waits.

* * *

 

Stiles’ shirt is off.  Deaton’s palm is in the center of Stiles’ back, and Scott still isn’t sure what’s going on.

The pain’s still there; Scott can feel it from the point of contact he adamantly refuses to give up.  Where there were long, thick claw marks before, though, there’s now smooth, unmarked skin.

Or, well, not exactly unmarked.

“Dude, when did you get a tattoo?” Scott asks.  He’s tempted to touch, to run his fingers along the long, thin twists of ink.  They’re wings like a bird’s, feathers carefully outlined and intricately shaded, covering most of Stiles back.  “Wait,  _how_ did you get a tattoo, you passed out from just being  _in the room with me_  when I got mine?”

“Not the normal way?” Stiles offers.  “And after the nogitsune… after…”

Stiles can’t push the ending out, and Scott can fill in the missing word himself.  

After Allison.  

“What does not the normal way mean?” Scott asks.

“There are some lingering effects of being possessed by the nogitsune,” Deaton responds, before Stiles can drag his way through an explanation.  “Some unexpected consequences.  The tattoo keeps them at bay.”

“My own guardian angel wings,” Stiles says glibly.  “They’ve got some pretty nice side effects, too.”

“The healing,” Scott says, sliding his hand slowly over the smooth skin of Stiles’ back.  Stiles winces when his fingers reach the edges of the feathers, and Scott draws his hand back.  “But it hurts you?”

“It’s better than the alternative,” Stiles says sharply.  He hunches his shoulders and pulls away.  “Not that plunging swords into people isn’t my idea of a good time, but…”

The words sting in more ways than one.  The memories are still fresh, even months later.  The feeling of having Stiles’ face pressed close, manic and grinning and proud as he jostled the weapon lodged inside Scott, the blinding pain as he twisted it, digging it deeper.

It wasn’t Stiles’ long, thin hand on the sword that killed Allison, but it was the nogitsune’s control that had Scott on the ground, watching the girl he loved die.

Scott knows that Stiles meant for it to sting, that he probably thought it would be enough to deflect Scott’s questions.  Scott can’t let it drop, though, not when Stiles is pale and weak and hurting  _all the time_.

“I never saw it in the locker room,” Scott says, more confused than ever.  It’s easier to latch onto the confusion than the hurt, especially when he knows that it’s intentional.

“Magic,” Stiles responds.  “They only show up inside mountain ash rings.”

The room goes quiet.  Deaton leaves for the back room, and Lydia heads out to the parking lot to make a call.  Scott and Stiles are left alone in the sterile, silent room, and Scott finally can’t take it anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Stiles sighs and reaches for his shirt.  “Because there’s nothing you can do about it, Scott.  It’s fine.  Nothing to worry about, no impending doom or death…”

“But you’re  _hurting_ ,” Scott insists, and Stiles rolls his eyes hard.  

“Dude, just drop it,” Stiles says firmly.  The weight of his words is lessened by his clumsy attempt to put his shirt back on.  But when Stiles’ face pops out the top hole, dead serious and barely restrained, like he’s primed for a fight.

Scott sighs.  “Fine.  I’ll drop it for now.”

“Thanks, bro,” Stiles says, clapping Scott on the shoulder and jumping off Deaton’s table.  “Let’s get out of here, then.”

* * *

 

Stiles drives them home in the jeep, singing tunelessly along to the radio, suggesting a milkshake run and rambling on like nothing happened.  He ignores Scott constantly glancing in his direction, checking for signs of anything different, trying to see if the tattoo on Stiles’ back has changed something and he just never noticed.

Scott can’t find anything.  Stiles isn’t still, like when the nogitsune had control.  He looks tired, but that’s all.

It unnerves Scott.  He feels like it’s just another way the nogitsune has created a divide between them.  There’s another thing, another source of pain, that Scott can’t touch.  Stiles won’t let him.  It’s frustrating for Scott, because even though they’ve both had their secrets over the years, this is something serious, and Stiles didn’t even plan to let him know.

When Stiles drops him off at his house, Scott goes to his room and lays awake for most of the night.

* * *

 

It’s late.  Stiles is over at Scott’s to study, but neither of them is having much success.  Lacrosse season is kicking Stiles’ ass; Scott can tell Stiles is bone tired, because when Stiles is tired, his pain tolerance goes to shit.  What is normally a dull ache turns into something more severe.  

Scott can see Stiles’ hand shaking when he goes to write and his body freezing up when he bends over his notes.  Scott can practically feel the tension and pain radiating from his back.

“Stiles,” Scott says, “maybe we should break for the night.”

“No, I’m almost done,” Stiles says, jotting down a string of numbers and variables and then erasing them all slowly.  “Just a bit longer.”

Scott takes the pencil from his hand and sets it down on his notebook.  “Stiles, you’re tired, you should-”

“No,” Stiles explodes, “you aren’t gonna do this.   _This_ is why I didn’t tell you.  I don’t need you constantly hovering, I thought we’d gotten over that by now.  After the nogitsune, I swear to god I thought you were never going to stop following me around with those puppy dog eyes and the worried shoulders.  I’m  _fine_ , I don’t need a babysitter.  I can handle the pain, and it’s not like I don’t deserve it anyway.”

The only sound is the chirping of the cicadas outside.  Stiles is still, his face twisting with regret.  He’d said more than he intended, and Scott’s only more concerned.

“Stiles, you don’t actually believe that, do you?” Scott asks.  “You can’t actually believe any of it was your fault, you were  _possessed_.”

“I remember it, all of it.  I remember everything that my body did, how  _good_ it felt.  To be fearless, to be in control.  I remember how I felt during everything that happened, and there wasn’t hesitation or regret or…”

“It wasn’t you,” Scott says fiercely.  “No one blames you.  You weren’t in control, the spirit was.  Would you ever hurt me like that on your own?”

“Well, there was the time with the heart rate monitor and the lacrosse balls,” Stiles says, “and the time where I got you beat up, and…”

“Seriously hurt,” Scott says.  “The kind of hurt that could kill me.  Do you expect me to believe for a single second you could ever do that to me?  Or to Allison?  Or even to Aiden.”

“Aiden, maybe,” Stiles admits, but there’s no conviction in his voice.  He crumples, leaning into Scott.  He’s too tired to fight on this.

It’s all the excuse Scott needs to ease his hand up the back of Stiles’ shirt, drawing just enough pain from Stiles to ease the tension in Stiles’ shoulders.  “You’re good, Stiles.  You aren’t a killer and you don’t deserve this.”

“You’d say that for anyone,” Stiles protests.  He’s wearily watching Scott’s veins go black, his whole body loosening as Scott slowly tugs his pain from him, leaving him dazed and fuzzy and exhausted.

“I know it’s true for you,” Scott says.  He’s confident, and he trusts Stiles in a way that no one else does.  The weight of Scott’s love and certainty is a little overwhelming, almost too much to handle when Stiles already feels so heavy.  It’s also steadying, though, like the arm on Stiles’ back.

“I love you,” Stiles tells him, almost resentfully, resting a hand on Scott’s knee.  “I’m gonna sleep now.”

Scott smiles.  “Okay.  Night, Stiles.”

* * *

 

“Let me help sometimes,” Scott tells Stiles the next morning as Stiles goes digging around in Scott’s dresser.  Stiles is moving easier than Scott’s seen for days, and he knows it’s because he spent most of the night with his hand pressed against Stiles’ back.  “Not all the time, but when you need it.”

“Fine,” Stiles says.  “But let’s not pretend this isn’t just because you want to get your hands all over all this, because we both know the truth here.”

Scott laughs.  He doesn’t disagree with Stiles; the second he does, he knows Stiles will be back on the defensive.  

Besides, there may be a grain of truth in it, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com).


End file.
